On a cloudy and cheerless night I met her, shaking the snow from her hair. In the drawn-out silence an invisible string was softly struck, a tremulous note that crescendoed into a loud hum, until one of us spoke. 'I want to fly to the moon,' she said, on that star and moon-less night. Quietly she sobbed on my shoulder, leaving dark splotches on my jacket. My heart softened, and turned to wax. Underneath the halo of the streetlamp, her hair brushed loosely over her ears, she looked elfin and fairy-like.

(The Frog Princess at the bottom of the well.)

She had to go. I held her close but she pushed me away with a quick flutter of wings, slipping off the wharf into the murky waters, ball and chain tied round her.

'I wish you never forget, the look on my face, when we first met' - Nicest Thing, Kate Nash

I turn the heating on; the car shivers briefly on such a cold winter night. The radio is blasting out some non-descript heavy metal; I flick through the stations, and then decide to drive in silence.

The echo of the night still courses through my veins, a river of warmth that still buzzes. A tender touch. A missed call. A friendship tested, a friendship cemented. A birthday not yet forgotten. Broken bones. Email letters. Drama, confusion. Will things ever stay constant? We keep sailing to the ends of the world, not knowing when to drop anchor and step ashore.

'I'm trying! I really am!'

'Nothing is instant,' says Suiri. 'Even instant noodles take time.'

The moon is frozen in the sky tonight, like a yellow teacup knocked off some celestial table, tilted and hanging in suspended animation. And when it drops, it shatters...

Help me please, I don't think I can make it.

Come with me, and we'll draw some bodies naked.